


Sore Loser

by Sifle



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sifle/pseuds/Sifle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ovechkin doesn't like the way Max plays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sore Loser

**Author's Note:**

> So my husband Thinice77 mentioned this pairing and I decided there wasn't much to go on but I could probably manage it...was quite a challenge.

Max was terribly surprised when Ovechkin showed up in the locker room after everyone had left. They'd lost to the Capitals and he was certain the other team would be celebrating while he tried to wash the loss away. The towel hung low on his hips and he felt incredibly exposed as the much bigger, much more physically inclined player stared angrily at him. 

“What I tell you, Talbot? What I say to you...when trade was just rumor?” Alex said angrily, inching his way over. Max frowned. “What are you here for Ovechkin? Didn't push me around enough on the ice so you came for a bit more fun?” He turned around and raked a hand through his hair. He didn't want to Alex to see how intimidated he was. He tried to focus on the words. What was said when all the rumors started flying, its been more than a year. Did he really expect him to remember? 

Ovechkin had called him, swore at him, about the trade possibility. He never understood why. He had little control over where he went. It all somehow centered around Sidney Crosby but Max had no way of knowing exactly what Ovechkin's motivations were. 

He decided to ignore the Capital and hope he simply left. His luck was never that good. He felt the heat of Ovechkin's body close to him but refused to turn around. “Fuck off Ovechkin” Was all he could muster. He didn't have time for this and he certainly wasn't in the mood. Max would be the first to admit that he was a sore loser. 

“I'm better than you on ice...and off. You going to have to face it eventually. But I not here for that.” He forcibly grabbed Talbot's shoulder and turned him to face him. “What I tell you about Sidney...about Pens team...” He was right in Max's face and the intimidation was rolling off him. He wracked his brain for a moment, for the exact words. “Not everyone can be like you. Or like Sid. We don't all have the choice to stay.” Max challenged. 

“Always have choice.” Ovechkin rose his voice and pushed Max down onto the bench. “Always have choice to make run at friend or make run at goal.” He was shouting. Max was mortified. He'd never been much of a physical player and chose to let others do his fighting for him. But Ovechkin had no problem checking Max into oblivion, throw his gloves and get bloody. He grit his teeth and kicked at Ovechkin. “Its fucking hockey. Its not personal. God damnit.” He was starting to yell, starting to get frustrated. “I did it for my team, that's how it works!” 

Ovechkin slapped him hard, open handed, an insult to any man. Max was stunned. “I warned you.” Ovechkin spoke quietly, fiercely. “Sid hurt. Because of you.” His nostrils flared and Max could feel the anger in the air. He gripped Max's shirt and slammed him into the wall, watching him slide down into the bench. 

“What do you care anyway. You're not fucking him. You couldn't make him happy.” He challenged, not bothering to fight back. In truth he hated himself every time he played against his old team mates. But it was something every hockey player dealt with. It was nothing new. Alex gripped Max's hair and yanked his head back, speaking down to him very close to his face. “You never make happy either.” He grit out, desperately trying not to break the mans neck. 

Max laughed. “You think so? I have an album full of photos. Sid's smile is plastered on every page you dick.” Max spit. Ovechkin roared and cracked Max's head against the wall, lifted him by the shirt and spun him around to crush him against the sweat soaked gear. “If he see man you are now maybe he not smile so big, hm?” Alex threatened, close to his ear. 

Ovechkin yanked his hands behind his back and wrenched the towel off his hips. “Traitor.” He snarled. “Dirty player. Dirty hit.” Max's heart started to race when he realized what was happening. “You not get penalty.” He yanked Max's hair hard once more, circling a hand around his neck. “I make things even. For Sid. For friend.” He roughly groped at Max's ass as the Flyer scrabbled to gain purchase against the locker room wall. This wasn't happening right? Ovechkin wasn't that kind of man was he? “What the fuck are you doing. If you wanna fight lets fucking go then.” Max yelled but Ovechkin did not listen. He was too busy shoving two fingers into Max's dry hole. 

Talbot yelped in pain. Fought as much as he could against the strong bodied Russian. Ovechkin's hand crushed his windpipe so he couldn't scream as he pumped his fingers in and out, hard and fast. The pace was killer and was meant to wound and it did. He could feel his sensitive flesh tearing and choked for air as he wondered if this was what friends did for each other. 

“I could hurt you too. Could take you out for game. Like you did Sid.” He hissed as he relentlessly slammed Max into the wall. “MY sid...” He yelled. And that's when Max realized...he didn't just take Sid out for the game. He took him from Ovechkin's bed too. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to escape into a happier place. 

A locker room full of good men. Good players. Good friends. Sidney and Geno with arms around his shoulder's after they'd won the cup. He and Flower rough housing before a game. The after victory parties rallied in the dark corners of his mind where he'd kept those memories safe. Tears slid down his cheeks as Flower's pleasure wracked face filled his memory. Sweaty nights in his apartment, always ending happily....nothing like this.

Nothing like being raped against the Flyer's filthy gear. Ovechkin gripped his cock and forced him to attention as his other hand slipped from his neck to cover his mouth, muffling his wails. “You not deserve their friendship. You hurt people. All you know to do. Always get away with it. Cheat. Whore. Not deserve Sid. Not deserve Fleury.” Ovechkin was growling in his ear as he worked Max's dick over. And at this moment Max couldn't agree more as his come splattered against the Flyers logo on his own jersey.


End file.
